My Parents Were Crypto-Jews in Iran

Carrying centuries of marginalization and untold stories

This essay is part of a new collection of work inspired by the anthology On Being Jewish Now: Reflections of Authors and Advocates. Want to contribute? Instructions here. Subscribe here.

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Photo by Hasan Almasi on Unsplash

What does it mean to me to be Jewish? I come from parents, ancestors, and centuries of Jews who lived in the Iranian city of Mashhad, a Shiite stronghold and pilgrimage site with a long history of maiming and massacring infidels. Many were assaulted and lynched for being who they were: Jewish. My own parents, and their tight-knit underground community, were crypto-Jews. They survived not only by living a hidden life but by living dual identities. Above ground, my mother wore the black chador, the burka, which concealed her body from head to toe, whenever she stepped foot outside her home. Fully cloaked, peering through eye slits, she pretended to pass as Muslim. Likewise, my father kneeled and prayed in public squares, reciting daily from the Koran. However, in the privacy and secrecy of their home, behind shuttered windows, they were devout, crypto-Jews.

In the fanatically religious city of Mashhad, Jews were deemed najis, impure—a creed that deserved to be destroyed. Throughout Iran, they were considered dhimmis, inferior subjects of the Islamic empire. My father said that even during the twentieth century, when making a purchase from a store owner who suspected he might be Jewish, he had to place his coins in a washbasin filled with water so the owner could then pluck out the money. A cleansing of all currency coming from the pockets and hands of Jews, otherwise known as infidels, was a widespread practice.

My parents, along with my two young brothers, fled Iran and immigrated to the U.S. right after World War II. They managed to escape a country but never rid themselves of their night terrors.  

Today, if asked who are you, my first and only response is Jewish. The teachings, traditions, and values handed down from generation to generation for thousands of years, dwells deeply in my DNA, and will always be who I am. But I also carry the historic feelings of an outsider, marginalized, due to my ancestral past.   

Jews of various backgrounds with complex identities have been stereotyped, distilled into a caricature, their unique differences discarded.  As an ethnic group, we have been inaccurately and far too simplistically defined.  Even though there are those who came from Eastern Europe and far-reaching parts of the world such as Iraq, Syria, Egypt, Morocco, Russia, China, India, and Africa, we have been erroneously lumped together as one and the same. However, in each case we are individuals, raised and shaped by a different nationality and culture.

We are not a monolithic group, and our experiences have varied depending on time and place. The untold stories of Iranian Jews, and more specifically those from Mashhad, inform, illuminate and shatter stereotypical thinking. They invoke understanding and compassion for a people who had the courage and tenacity to hold onto their principles and their faith in the face of daily persecution.

Building brotherhood means humanizing the “other.” Doesn’t everyone want to be seen accurately, as a person—not as an oversimplified idea?       

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Esther Amini is an author, painter, and psychoanalytic psychotherapist in private practice.  Her debut memoir is entitled: “CONCEALED”—Memoir of a Jewish-Iranian Daughter Caught Between the Chador and America. KIRKUS REVIEWS anointed “CONCEALED” one of the BEST BOOKS of “2020.”  Katie Couric and Zibby Owens showcased this memoir on Nov. 30, 2021 at The Streicker Center in Manhattan.  Her short stories have appeared in Elle, Lilith, Tablet, The Jewish Week, Barnard Magazine, TK University’s Inscape Literary, Proximity, Paper Brigade, and Medium.com.   Her essays can also be found in Zibby Owens’ Anthology: “Moms Don’t Have Time To,” as well as in Zibby’s anthology: “Moms Don’t Have Time To Have Kids.” Eight of her pieces have been performed by Jewish Women’s Theatre, (a.k.a. The Braid), in Los Angeles and in Manhattan, and she was chosen by Jewish Women’s Theatre as their Artist-in-Residence in 2019.

Instagram: @estheraminiauthor

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This essay is part of a new collection of work inspired by the anthology On Being Jewish Now: Reflections of Authors and Advocates. Want to contribute? Instructions here. Subscribe here.